


One Day Nearer To Gone

by nothing_rhymes_with_ianto



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Community: angst_bingo, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-26
Updated: 2012-11-26
Packaged: 2017-11-19 15:43:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/574922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nothing_rhymes_with_ianto/pseuds/nothing_rhymes_with_ianto
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the beginning their relationship had been one of mutual interest and survival, but had turned to so much more, at least for her. And now Emily is smiling frostily at her and threatening to throw her out in the cold, like nothing they’ve ever done means anything at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Day Nearer To Gone

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the "strippers" square of angst_bingo.

“You told me there would be no one else!”

Emily’s grin is feral and full of teeth. “Alice dear, you know me. I lie.”

“You said you would stay with me. You made me, you created my life here, you _saved_ me and now you’re going to turn me away?”

Alice doesn’t know what to do. She paces back and forth in the little office room, her skirts swishing and tangling about her feet. There’s a sour taste in her mouth. Emily watches the pacing with her eyes, not moving from her gracefully poised position at the desk. The oak top is clean and organized, the blotter clear of stains and papers. The tidiness hides the messy business they’re in, the fear and pain and deaths that surround them in far too many forms.

“Stop pacing like that.”

Alice juts out her chin, bitterness making her hard around the one person she was always softer with. She puts her hands on her hips and wishes she could breathe properly around her leader. “Why? Are you going to _burn_ me the way you burnt him for leaving you?”

Old wounds hurt deep, and Emily glares at her for a long moment before resuming her placid, catlike expression. Her voice is calm and reasonable when she speaks, but Phillip Lyle’s betrayal glints in her eyes. “Alice, it’s nineteen-ten. We’ve been together here for so long. Don’t you think it’s time to explore a bit? You were only so much a child when I brought you here.”

“And I am no longer child-like now. I don’t want to explore in any way. Torchwood and you are what I have, and I enjoy them. I do not need anything more.”

“You have not seen the world like—”

“Like you have?” Alice scoffs. “You have seen the world and found a _strumpet_ to replace me. A dancing whore!”

Emily’s expression goes hard and stern. She blinks slowly up at Alice and plucks her fountain pen from its inkwell. “I took you off the streets, Alice. I can put you back out on them. Then where will you go? Stealing and killing out there won’t be allowed the way it is in here. What then?”

Alice’s brain burns. In the beginning their relationship had been one of mutual interest and survival, but had turned to so much more, at least for her. And now Emily is smiling frostily at her and threatening to throw her out in the cold, like nothing they’ve ever done means anything at all. Anger swells up in her and she’s spun around and splayed her hands out on the blotter before she’s even realised what she’s done.

“You weren’t getting anywhere without me. You went backward until I showed up, Emily _dear_. I’m the one who goes out on all of our cases. I’m the one who interrogates our prisoners, who watches our suspects and gathers information. I’m the one who cons them and talks to them. I’m the one who’s ever gotten any lead on a case. You’re _nothing_ without me here.”

Emily shrugs, puts the pen back and looks down at Alice’s hands. Alice instinctively looks as well. Her hands are white and delicate, the snaking light blue veins visible at the surface of the skin, her fingernails a gentle pink where her fingertips press against the dark wood. “I can always get myself someone else.”

“No one is half as good as I am.”

Emily opens her mouth to respond, but jerks back in surprise simultaneously with Alice as a sharply whistled tune announces Jack Harkness’s entrance to their base. Alice stands quickly and backs away from the desk. They eye the door together as if waiting for him to burst in. Instead, the whistling turns a sharp right and continues on down another hallway.

Pointing a finger, Emily hisses her words up into Alice’s face: “We will speak about this later.”

But, of course, they never do. This is Torchwood, and no one deals with things well. Talking is not a common occurrence, and relationships are bound to become skewed and twisted up, no matter the era.

Alice has a thorn in her heart, a little wound that bleeds whenever Emily pretends to be loving towards her. Because that’s what they’ve come to; they’re pretending now to still be in love, so Harkness and the others don’t get suspicious, so that everything will still run smoothly. Somehow over a year has past and neither of them has come to a point of dealing with it. The hurt Alice feels is one she’s gotten used to now, and she’s had one wound after another her whole life. Pretending is a Torchwood way of life, and the ache is far more familiar than solving the problem.

“So girls, what’s next? Have another deadly mission for me?” Jack grins toothily at them. He still hates it here, but now that they have more members, it seems he’s coming in to his own.

“Alice, love, will you get Harkness his newest assignment papers?”

“Of course.” The smile she plasters onto her face is just as false as Emily’s and it hurts her cheeks to hold onto it. Alice breathes heavily through her nose when she reaches the cabinets of assignments. Pretending is harder when Jack is there; he’s more observant than the rest. Emily kisses her cheek when she hands the papers over, and she has to resist leaning into the touch.

“Thank you, dear. Now, would you go find Charles? He wanted to speak to you on the matter of your next case and the tools you might need.”

“Yes, Emily. Of course.”

Emily smiles at her and it would look warm to anyone else watching, but Alice can see the hard angry lines and the nothingness in that gaze. She nods and hurries out to find Charles, trying to conjure up the old vision of Emily in her minds eye, the one with the soft gaze and beautiful smile.

Alice cannot decide what she wants. The hiding is hurtful, and Emily’s cold stares when they’re alone make her want to weep. Emily’s voice is soft and sweet and loving when they’re around the rest of the team. Sometimes Alice thinks she can pretend it’s all okay if she just closes her eyes and listens to Emily talk. Then she won’t see the emotionless eyes or the stiff angry posture, the tense jaw. She can imagine it’s like the way they were in the beginning, when Emily still smiled when Alice said she was pretty.

At night, she lays in her tiny cot bed, tangled in her cotton nightgown and brown woollen sheets and wishes it could be different. She remembers Emily’s body smooth and warm beside hers as they slept in Emily’s larger carved oak bed. The nights seem longer and colder now, and filled with monsters that never seemed as frightening as they do now. Emily’s little room smells of perspiration and the bay and spoiled food and a poor attempt at covering it all up with stolen sachets of patchouli. She never noticed it until Emily turned her back. It’s as if Emily had been a closed door blocking off all the awful sensations she had been so familiar with before Torchwood had become her life. And now the door is open and everything is tumbling back in.

“Is something wrong, Alice?” Emily asks mildly as she passes through the room where Alice is staring at the wall with a book open in her lap. She’s read the same paragraph twelve times and she cannot remember what was said.

“No, I’m all right.” She has to remind herself of their pretence, has to consciously think about the fact that things have changed. “Go on.”

Alice watches Emily’s back recede through the doorway and remembers a similar vision with bare shoulders and loosed hair and a high-throated laugh full of joy.

The hot anger has dulled to a throbbing ache when they speak to each other. It’s been nearly three years and it Alice’s heart only still hurts when Emily speaks to her in that loving voice that’s become rarer and rarer. Harkness seems to have figured it out, but she knows he couldn’t care less. He’s only interested in hanging around for that Doctor of his. She hangs around because Torchwood is all she has, and maybe because she’s got a masochistic streak as long as her sadistic one and she just wants to hurt from the sound of Emily’s voice and empty looks no longer soft with affection.

The day is growing dimmer, and Alice is wandering the darkening streets. She’s fallen back into her habit of pickpocketing. It’s only half the rush she used to get with Emily, but it’s something. The red light district is wonderfully easy pickings, as the men are always far more interested in the wares around them than their own pockets.

In a dark stone alley, there’s a flash of hair and skirts in the light of an ambered lantern that looks familiar, and Alice peers in for another look, despite the churning in her gut that warns her to stay ignorant. A giggle resounds off the close-pressed walls and Alice can see without a doubt the familiar sweet face that used to smile up at her, the hand that used to hold her own and caress her cheek with such gentleness. At some point she must have uttered a gasp or some other startled sound, because Emily turns to stare at her, and her eyes glitter in the light. Alice puts her head down and hurries away, not bothering to steal from any of the easy targets around her. She locks herself in her tiny room and doesn’t come out to anyone for three days, telling them she has a head cold and needs to rest.

She’s not ill, but part of her feels like she is, like she should be. She can’t sleep and can’t eat, and her limbs feel heavy and tired like she’s been running for miles. She lies awake in the night and tries to think of nothing at all, but instead ends up recalling the way Emily used to taste, or how soft her skin was, or the way her light-coloured hair would fall across Alice’s belly when she slid down to kiss the inside of Alice’s thighs in their bed. And the anger bubbles to the surface again, along with a sense of betrayal and love-twisted hatred that hasn’t been there before.

When Alice returns, Emily’s smile is secretive and malicious, but Alice is so full of anger that it slides right off. She does everything with hard movements now, so steeped in wrath that it’s hard to even get a rise out of her anymore. They don’t talk about the night in the alley.

Except Emily grins at her a month later and shakes her head. “You had to get curious, didn’t you?”

“I don’t—” But then Alice realizes that they’re starting a conversation halfway through after far too much time has passed to do anything about it. “I didn’t think you had stayed so close with her after so long.”

“Why? We were together for quite a long time, Alice. Don’t you remember?”

“Of course I remember. Do you?” Alice cocks her head and peers at her leader. “Do you remember the way we were? Do you remember all that we did? All that we accomplished?”

Emily doesn’t respond, and something inside Alice tears open at the idea of everything about them having disappeared from Emily’s mind. She can’t stop thinking about the past and the way it was, and it seems Emily has thrown every reminder away. Hatred spills into her guts and for once she can’t help but miss the twist of unrequited love she’s felt in her gut since all this began. Now there’s nothing their but loathing of the woman she once adored.

“I must go now, Emily. I have work to do.” Alice turns on her heel and hurries out of the room. She can feel Emily’s eyes on her back even three rooms away in the dimness of her own study.

The Luger P08 hidden in the folds of her dress was stolen from a visiting German soldier years ago. It’s not a registered weapon of hers in the Torchwood records; it wouldn’t be, she stole it herself and never told a soul, not even her love Emily. It’s heavy and reassuring against her hip, and it reminds her of everything that has gone wrong.

They’re chasing what has been identified as a Jagarin through the forests around Cardiff. It’s getting dark and Alice is getting annoyed. Harkness is off on a far deadlier case, so it’s just her and Emily trudging through the mud. She can hear the Jagarin growling in the distance.

“Alice, darling, will you try looking over to the east of the centre tree while I look west?” Emily asks sweetly. Alice stops walking and finally looks over at her leader and former lover.

“You don’t have to pretend anymore, Emily. I’ve long since stopped caring. The others are far too preoccupied with themselves to be much bothered either.”

Emily nods curtly. “Excellent. It was getting a bit difficult, anyhow.”

Alice feels a hot rush of malice simultaneous to the Jagarin’s much louder growl, and they both spin to face the creature that comes lunging out of the trees. One swipe of its large hand and Emily is on the ground. Alice has already jumped reflexively out of the way, crouching as low as possible. She’s still hot with fury, the final pieces of her heart that were somehow hanging on now shattered and dropped onto the ground, covered in mud like the rest of her. The pistol is still heavy against her side and she pulls it from concealment, coming in to her self to watch Emily fighting against the alien.

Two shots ring out, though Alice can’t say which killed which, and in moments the Jagarin is dead, with Emily still and lifeless beneath it. The former leader is staring at the dim sky with wide eyes, and for a moment the past flares up again and Alice is tempted to recite something nice in her memory. Then it fades away and Emily is nothing but a body and the memories of years gone by. Alice gets the carriage with its blackened windows and slings them both inside. There is blood sliding from the corner of Emily’s mouth. For a moment Alice remembers what it was like to kiss those lips. Then she remembers the relief on Emily’s face only hours ago and the hatred slips back in like a constant companion.

“She was killed by the creature,” Alice states wearily while Charles and Jack stare at her with questioning eyes. “Neither of us was paying attention and it attacked her.”

She doesn’t look back at the black carriage stuffed with bodies. The two members of the team watch her walk away, their eyes hot on her back. She thinks she hears Harkness mutter something about needing a new leader now. It doesn’t matter anymore. There’s nothing left, and all she feels is empty. The woman she called lover is dead and she feels nothing for it. Only a vague sense of loss dulled by years of façade and infidelity. Even the happiness once brought by stealing and killing and the grimly entertaining pain of Harkness’s life sentence no longer amuses her. The heaviness in her gut feels like a pile of bullets, and she wonders how much longer it will be until they’re used up and she’s just an empty chamber to be tossed aside.


End file.
